Patrick's Charm (The Bride Train, #2) (3 page)

By the time she started the second verse, there wasn’t a dry eye in the place.

“A hundred months have passed, Lorena,

Since last I held that hand in mine,

And felt the pulse beat fast, Lorena,

Though mine beat faster far than thine.

A hundred months, 'twas flowery May,

When up the hilly slope we climbed,

To watch the dying of the day,

And hear the distant church bells chime.

We loved each other then, Lorena,

Far more than we ever dared to tell...”

As she sang, she wove her way through the saloon, passing by each table, lightly touching men’s shoulders, acknowledging them with a sympathetic nod. Kindness and empathy flowed out of her in a cool, pure stream.

The men gazed upon her, enthralled, and none more so than Patrick. The yearning ache in his chest intensified, his vision blurred. What an unexpected treasure. An angel, come to life...and to think she had leapt into
his
arms. Every man in the room had fallen in love with her, but she belonged to him. His Charm.

Patrick shook his head to clear the absurd daydream.
His?
She was no more his than the bright blue sky or the warm sunshine or the sweet smells of spring. Whether or not she’d been sent to help him, he couldn’t be so brainless as to let his emotions drag him into another heartbreak; and Charm was heartbreak personified. She hadn’t shown any man, including him, particular interest, yet she’d woven a spell that made them all believe they were special.

He turned his back on her and the haunting strains of the song, fighting to regain his composure. Working with her, seeing her daily, held more danger than a forest filled with wily Rebs. She wouldn’t kill him. But if he let himself fall for her, she’d make him wish he were dead.

After she finished singing, she returned behind the bar. She held out her skirt to carry more coins the men had given her. “I’d suggest putting a jar on the counter...unless you want to keep catching the money they throw.”

Her cheeky remark amused him. She was good and she knew it. Her rightful pride in a job well done made her all the more appealing.

Patrick resisted the urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her soundly. Instead, he fished an empty jar from behind the bar. In the meantime, Charm stacked the coins. Her take for two songs included several silver dollars. He did a quick calculation of what they could make in a week, and his mouth went dry. When Lady Luck decided to pay up, she did so in abundance.

“I’ll take half,” she announced.

“This time.” He corrected her to let her know she wouldn’t be driving the bargain. “We still need to discuss the financial arrangements.”

Her brow furrowed. What he said displeased her. Even if she ended up with half, he couldn’t let her have it without serious negotiation, or he’d be seen as namby-pamby. 

“All right. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“You’re leaving?” He hoped to have her perform tonight.

She scraped coins into a small purse attached by a decorative chain to a belt around her tiny waist. “I didn’t come prepared to start right away.”

Already negotiating. Better not seem too eager and lose any advantage he might have. “That’s fine. You can come and go as you please, so long as you aren’t late for your performances.”

She didn’t break eye contact, which for some reason thrilled him. He could lose himself in those big brown eyes.

“You ain’t leavin’ us now, are you Charm?” McLaughlin’s mournful query broke the trance.

Patrick blinked, at the same time Charm jerked her attention to the men leaning on the bar, gazing at her like hopeful puppies. She’d won their utter devotion with two sentimental songs. A fact that was both humorous and sobering.

She eyed her adoring fans warily. McLaughlin puckered up and blew her a kiss. Something akin to fear flickered across her face before she shuttered it behind a polite smile. Odd, how she could dance and sing and parade around in front of these men, but when they got up close, she grew skittish.

“Roll in your tongues, boys...” Patrick took a moment to refill the men’s drinks. She needn’t worry. He wouldn’t let anyone near enough to hurt her. “Miss LaBelle will be back. I’ll post a schedule so everybody can see when she’s performing.”

As she turned to leave, he caught her arm. Didn’t want her getting away without confirming when she’d return. “Be back early, so we can talk before I open up.”

She stared at his grip with surprise, and then pulled away, hugging the spot where his hand had been. He hadn’t grabbed her tight enough to hurt her. Perhaps she found his touch offensive. Odd that she would decide that now.

“How early?” she asked.

“Eight.”

“I’ll be here by ten. That should give us sufficient time to discuss a fair arrangement.” She hesitated. “We should probably draw up an agreement.”

In other words, a handshake wasn’t sufficient.

“You mean, write it down? We don’t need that. If I make a deal, I’ll honor it.”

The hesitation, there it was again. “Yes, I’m sure your word is good. But, I don’t know you well enough to trust what you will or won’t do.”

She’d trusted him enough to leap into his arms. It was on the tip of his tongue to say so, except he wasn’t so unwise as to insult her like she had insulted him. At least knowing she didn’t welcome his attentions would make it easier to keep his hands to himself.

“Fine, then. I don’t know you, either. So we’ll put everything in writing.

She took a step backwards. Her uncertainty or dislike or fear, or whatever it was, annoyed him. He’d done nothing more than offer her a job.

“Until tomorrow, then.”

“No later than ten,” he reminded her. “Maybe we ought to put that in writing, too.”

“I’ll be here.” Wounded reproach flashed across her fact an instant before she turned with a swirl of skirts and left.

He considered going after her to apologize for his unkind remark. Better not to get off on the wrong foot. Then again, he couldn’t allow her to lead him in a merry dance, or he would lose what little advantage he had. She would be back because she wanted the job. They would come to some agreeable compromise, and then he would sign her blasted agreement. It would serve as a constant reminder of the danger of becoming too attached to a good luck charm.

***

C
harm left the saloon more flustered and uncertain than when she had arrived. She’d blamed the thrill she’d experienced on the excitement brought about by the crowd’s enthusiastic response. When the Irishman touched her arm, the same thing happened again. She couldn’t blame that on the crowd.

Her unexpected attraction to the saloon owner confused and frightened her. Having managed to escape the proverbial frying pan, jumping into the fire with Mr. O’Shea would be foolish indeed. For one, she didn’t know him. He might expect favors as part of their deal. Or was she reading him wrong? She hated it, this uncertainty. All her life she had worked in places where men gathered and hadn’t feared them. Not before Simon had given her a reason to be afraid.

She should heed her misgivings and not return. What did it matter if she didn’t show up? Mr. O’Shea would just think she had changed her mind.

Crossing the street was fraught with the usual dangers—ruts deep enough to swallow her to her kneecaps in slick mud, interspersed with piles of pungent manure. She hurried past a flat bed loaded with building materials, and ignored the catcalls and whistles from men who wanted to get her attention. The town and surrounding area had upwards of four hundred inhabitants, most of them male, and most of those the coarse variety, the sort of men she had entertained when she was young. Not the sort she dallied with...or married.

By the time she reached the boarding house—she refused to give it so grand a name as hotel, which is what the owners called it—she still hadn’t come to a firm conclusion about her next steps. In a town with more saloons than stores, she had few options.

Four women who’d arrived with her on the bride train were gathered in the front parlor, engaged in what appeared to be a somber discussion.

She hesitated by the door, imagining their reaction to her rather spontaneous decision to seek employment in a saloon. That wasn’t her first choice, but she wasn’t qualified for the usual jobs reserved for women, even if any were available. She could perform operas and quote Shakespeare, but she couldn’t cook and didn’t sew well enough to be a seamstress. In the traditional sense, she was inferior which was why it surprised her that the other women had accepted her so readily. They didn’t know about her career. As soon as they found out, they would shun her. If she didn’t go back to O’Shea’s, she wouldn’t have to tell them.

She stepped into the parlor. “Why the long faces?”

“We’re discussing the latest ultimatum from Mr. Hardt.” Susannah Braddock’s stormy expression warned it was something ominous. If it involved the domineering railroad agent, that came as no surprise. “He’s informed us the railroad will no longer pay for our room and board.

Dread pooled in the pit of Charm’s stomach. She couldn’t turn down a job if she would soon be homeless. “Most of the women who arrived with us are married, seven out of twelve. That doesn’t make him happy?”

Susannah huffed. “He wants all of us married yesterday. We are, in his words, taking advantage of his good will by dragging our feet in selecting suitors.”

Hardt could be overbearing and unreasonable, but in Susannah’s case, he might be right. The fair-haired widow had the perfect combination of angelic features and a body made for sin, as men would say. Educated, with homemaking skills as an added bonus, she had every man in town offering marriage—and she’d spurned all of them. She must have reasons for not wanting to marry although she continued to declare her intention to be wed when she found
the right man
.

Charm suspected a man didn’t exist who would meet Susannah’s exacting standards. As for herself, she wanted no man and nothing to do with marriage. Mr. Hardt would have to be satisfied with being compensated for her expenses, as soon as she had the money.

“Come join the discussion. We’ve been talking for over an hour and haven’t come up with a solution.” Prudence Walker shifted to make room on the sofa. If she had sat still for more than five minutes it would be amazing. She usually hopped from task to task, always busy, like an industrious wren. “You have good ideas, Charm. Help us resolve this dilemma.”

“Put on a show to raise money.” Charm surveyed the shocked reactions. “Bad idea?”

“I cannot believe he intends to throw us out.” Delilah Bodean lifted her hand to her forehead in a dramatic gesture certain to bring a chivalrous man running—if one existed.

“Remember, Mr. Cold Heart tried to raffle us off the first day we arrived,” Charm reminded her.

Delilah’s sapphire eyes darkened with wounded confusion. “But he seemed to be thawing...”

“Spring on the heel of limping Winter treads,”
Charm recited.

The four women presented another round of blank stares.

She shrugged. “Shakespeare...I thought it apt.”

With a sigh, she cradled her purse in her lap. She’d counted five dollars in tips, and in a generous mood had offered half to Mr. O’Shea. His unhappy reaction must mean he expected more. She would work harder and make more, and negotiate for a larger percentage because now she had to cover her living expenses, as well as pay what she owed the railroad and save enough to start over—preferably in a town with a theater or opera house. For now, she was stuck with working in a saloon. She would just have to make it clear to her employer that their relationship was strictly businesslike. If that wasn’t already clear.

He’d certainly gotten his feathers ruffled when she asked to draw up an agreement. The idea came to her as an afterthought, remembering something her mother had told her once about not getting paid because of a misunderstanding. Mr. O’Shea’s reaction made it clear he took umbrage at her suggestion, and when she tried to explain, she just made it worse. This was her first time to negotiate a business deal on her own. She wasn’t even certain about what to write down besides the few details they had agreed on. With her luck, she would return only to find out that Mr. O’Shea had decided against hiring her.

“I might have an idea...” Hope Waverly perched on a stool in front of the piano. She liked to sit there, although she never played the instrument, or sang. Shyness?

Try as she might not to draw attention, she stood out like a blood red rose in a field of daisies. Her exotic features and dusky complexion hinted at mixed blood, which might account for her reticence. She feared being shunned.

Charm understood and sympathized. She encouraged Hope to express her opinion. “What’s your idea?”

“We should ask Rose to talk to Mr. Hardt. He likes her.”

That made sense. Rose, who was much too sweet for her own good, had managed to penetrate Mr. Hardt’s tough hide. In a fit of jealousy, her beau had punched the railroad agent in the nose. Charm found the incident far more amusing than did the people involved.

“Good idea. Let’s send in Rose to plead our case.”

“No.” Susannah shook her head, emphatically. “We don’t need to cause trouble.”

The whole town seethed with unrest. Men fought the railroad over land rights, fought with each other over women. In light of all that, what Hope suggested didn’t sound so bad.

“I’m surprised the prospect of Mr. Hardt getting his nose punched again doesn’t appeal to you.”

A blush tinged Susannah’s fair skin. Everyone knew about
the incident
between the outspoken young widow and the dour railroad agent. Charm just wished she had been there to see Susannah deliver the slap, or had at least heard it from the next room.

“It might be what he deserves, but I’m sure we can come up with something more effective on our own,” Susannah said primly.

The other women glanced at each other with doubt. However, no one would naysay the self-appointed leader. Susannah had a kind heart and she meant well, which made her bossy mothering tolerable. Having a child must have stimulated her nurturing tendencies.